


Wilted

by IceStarBeam



Series: Rainstorm Cycle [2]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, OCs - Freeform, Unintentional Redemption, dark forrest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 17:03:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1949223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceStarBeam/pseuds/IceStarBeam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now I know. I know that I was a rambunctious kit and an unruly apprentice. I know that I was a terrible mentor. I know I was an outcast. I know I fled to my enemy. I know that I loved, and I was betrayed. I know that with a swipe of my claws, I threw it all away. I know why I am fading from the dark forest, and I know I wish I didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wilted

On the far side of the dark forest, there is a pool.   
Its waters are crystal clear, a change from the usual muck. Still, I wouldn’t dare stick my muzzle in it. No one seems to know where it came from, but most agree that it’s some leftover from Starclan. Really, who else would leave something like that in a forest full of murderers?   
Of course, I don’t know for sure what would happen if I were to drink form it. No one out right speaks of it, especially those who have experienced it. But the rumors don’t conflict.   
You go back. You see the reason, why you’ve been left in the shadows. You see all of it. It’s punishment. It’s for the guilt. They want us to feel remorse. They want us to know we are damned.   
Even if that’s all true, if it could truly destroy a cat’s spirit, I can’t stop thinking about it lately. I can’t help wondering if, just maybe, it will be my salvation. I am fading, my pelt dimming so much I can see the trees through it. My memories went not long before my pelt, and I can’t help but wonder if they’re connected. That just maybe, if I can remember, I won’t fade.  
It’s not the best of ideas, but I’m running out of time. The only thing I’m completely sure of anymore is my name, and I had to be reminded of that the other day.  
Then again, that may not be my fault. Recently, every time I hear someone call out for me, my name just doesn’t sit right. Rosefrost, what I’ve been called since I’ve arrived here, is familiar but wrong in some fundamental way.  
And maybe that’s it. if I can’t remember my own name, why should I remember fear? why should I keep reminding myself not to come too close, and to never, ever drink from the pool?  
One day, my paws drift to it almost without my noticing. i sink down with my legs flattened under me, head lowered to look into the water. My reflection looks back, almost white pelt blending in a bit too well with the water.   
I don’t let myself hesitate. I quickly lap up one, two swallows of the water. Then i drop my head to my paws, fully expecting to fall asleep, and dream for the first time in seasons.  
After sitting awkwardly with my eyes closed for several seconds, I peek at the pool.  
It is illuminated with the image of a nursery.  
I watch, transfixed, as a glowing queen shows off her kits to a purring tom.   
“This dark tom is Breezekit, and these are his sisters.” She noses two other kits away from her belly.   
“The darker she-cat is Greykit, and the light one is Frostkit.”  
My heart slams against my chest as Frostkit looks up. Her pelt is the exact shade that mine used to be, and our eyes are the same dull green.   
Frostkit is undeniably me. I guess that could explain the frost part of my name, but not how I came to be Rosefrost.   
“They’re beautiful, Snowpelt,” The tom purrs. he dips his nose and nuzzles each kit in turn. As he gets to Frostkit, she (I? Thinking of this little, innocent kit as myself seems bizarre.) bats at him with her tiny paws.

The kits are friends as soon as they open their eyes. Their dynamic is plain to see, as they grow and play.   
It’s Frostkit who first comes up with the outrageous ideas.  
“I think we should explore Brightstar’s den, to make sure there are no Rainclan enemies hiding!”  
Greykit is the closest they get to a voice of reason.  
“Wouldn’t she know if there was an enemy warrior in her nest?”  
Brezekit is the only one brash enough to try any of it.  
“Breezekit, why were you tearing up my nest?”  
“I was only trying to make sure there were no Rainclan warriors, Brightstar. Honest!”  
It’s ridiculously adorable amid the shadows and sharpened claws of the dark forest, almost unsettlingly so. Still, it lets me relax. This won’t hurt me. This kit won’t be doing anything worthy of the dark forest any time soon.   
They play right up until there apprenticeship, (which was delayed a quarter moon when they stole all the finches from the fresh kill pile to spite a warrior who insulted Snowpelt and really liked finches) best friends ready to take on the next big adventure together.  
So it’s a bit sad when as soon as they get to the apprentice den, Breezepaw strides right away from his sister and up to Brackenpaw, the nine moon old son of the deputy and doesn’t look back.   
Frostpaw’s mentor is a mess. Petalflight is a slip of a cat, hardly bigger than Frostpaw. She shies away from fighting and discipline and does absolutely nothing to stop Frostpaw from assuming Breezepaw’s role as troublemaker.   
It’s plain to see this is a bad arrangement. With Frostpaw in charge, Graypaw is coerced into doing progressively more annoying things to the poor cats of the clan. Until, that is, her competent mentor steps in and forbids her from being alone with Frostpaw out of camp.   
Frostpaw on her own is no less terrifying, at least to Petalflight. She channels all the energy and rambunctiousness from her misadventures with Greypaw into the training sessions. Petalflight tries being nice, tries being indifferent, and tries begging. It doesn’t keep Frostpaw from mouthing off, arguing, refusing to cooperate, and wandering off.   
In fact, she wanders so far one day Petalflight panics. Frostpaw strolls about the territory for the whole day and part of the night, unaware that Petalfight has called a search for her.  
That was the end of her apprenticeship with Petalflight.   
Her next mentor is a much better fit, in my opinion. It almost seems like I remember him, recognize him before Frostpaw really knows him. Flintfoot. A senior warrior, strict and not willing to put up with this young cat’s antics.   
Its actually a bit amusing, watching Frostpaw wrangle for the upper paw. She mouths off, he tells her she’s lost the privilege to speak and she hunts in silence for the rest of the day. She argues, he tells her to try it her way and makes her explain why she failed. She refuses to cooperate, he pushes back her assessment.   
And when she wanders, he does… Nothing. I’m a bit surprised when he just walks back to camp when she strolls away from the lesson. There are no patrols, I don’t even thinks he tells Brightstar.   
She stumbles into camp in the middle of the night, whimpering in hunger and fear and cold, and not a word is said about it.   
So when Brightstar calls Flintfoot into her den, she’s immensely satisfied.   
She’s going to tell him to stop being so mean to me.   
She thinks of it the whole time he’s in there. Never again will she be silenced, or humiliated, or forced not to talk to her sister. He’ll apologize, and so will Brightstar for ever making the mistake of assigning this terrible cat to be her mentor.   
As soon as Flintfoot leaves her den, Brightstar calls her in. She quivers from nose to tail-tip in excitement the whole way.  
“Frostpaw, look at this stick.”  
She pulls a short, stubby stick from her nest.   
Frostpaw glances at it, and sees it’s, well, a stick. Scratched and broken at one end, but unremarkable. I’m just as confused looking down at it through the pool.   
“Flintfoot and I were discussing when you would be ready for your assessment.”  
She seems a bit confused by why they’ve jumped to this topic, but still nods.   
“He says he’s had to punish you frequently, and that he’s kept track of every lesson he’s had to repeat.”  
Ah, so she’ going to tell her she understands how unfair that is, she thinks. I doubt that’s it, but I honestly don’t really know where she’s going with this.   
“He did this by making notches on this stick. Frostpaw, look closely and count the notches.”  
She wrinkles her nose and bends her head to it. Are those scratches all notches?   
After counting, eyes wide, she raises her head.  
“How many?” Brightstar asks.  
“Twenty three…” she murmurs, apparently non-believing..  
“A bit louder? I can’t hear you.”  
“Twenty. Three.”  
“Just as I thought. This would put you at twenty three days behind, wouldn’t it? So you’ll have your assessment twenty three days after your littermates.”  
Frostpaw can only stare in shock. “But… That’s not fair! He’s so mean to me, he wants me to be an apprentice forever.’  
Brightstar only shakes her head. “Don’t you think you were a bit mean to him, too? You argued, didn’t do what you were told, ignored him, all kinds of rude things. Flintfoot is completely within his rights to do what he did.’  
When her ‘logical’ attempt fails, Frostpaw switches to a new one: defiance.  
“You can’t make me. I’ll learn to be a warrior alone, and a better one than Flintfoot ever could be. I’ll become leader, and I’ll make sure all the mentors are nice.”  
“Okay, if that’s how you want to do this, Frostpaw.” She clears her throat and sits up straight. “I order you as the leader of Stormclan to obey your mentor, and live out any punishment he gives you.”  
Frostpaw slumps, and I foolishly assumed that she was defeated, that this event set my paws on the path of a wise warrior…  
“Or what?”  
Now, Brightstar smirks. “Or I’ll personally ensure you don’t become a warrior until your siblings are elders.”  
For the first time in her short life, Frostpaw is humbled. She hardly speaks, does everything she’s told and nothing more. I guess this in itself is a form of rebellion, but it’s a lesser one. And Flintfoot makes it very clear, the only way to become a warrior is to train as one.   
Flintfoot. I wonder what he thinks of me now, up in Starclan. He thought he had tamed his wayward apprentice, helped mold her into a better cat, but now…  
I sharply draw my attention back to the pool. Frostpaw is sitting in the camp, with all other cats around her. A clan meeting, or a-  
Ceremony. Greypaw and Breezepaw sit under the Clan Peak with their mentors. Flintfoot sits close to Frostpaw, probably expecting her to make a scene. She doesn’t, though. She sits, silent, as Greypaw’s mentor affirms that she is ready to be a warrior, and Breezepaw’s too. No one looks at Frostpaw, whose mentor is keeping her close like a wayward kit.   
When the chants of, “Greystorm! Breezeclaw!’ die down, Flintfoot nudges her.   
“Don’t you have something to say to them?”  
She plods over, and waits for the crowd to thin. When it does she steps up to her siblings.  
“Congratulations. I’m proud of you.” she mews.  
“You’ll be with us, soon. I’m sure you will. I’m proud of you, too.” Greystorm mews kindly.   
Breezeclaw scoffs.  
I can almost remember, now. The anger, at the condescension in her voice. It probably wasn’t intended, but that made it worse. She did it without thinking. And Breezeclaw, who she hadn’t really spoke to in moons, finding her amusing. Probably pathetic, too.   
She starts to respond, with something equally as scathing, but then she catches sight of white fur as soon as I do.   
Snowpelt. My mother, who looks just like me, who loved me as a kit but seems to have forgotten after the Petalflight incident.  
She doesn’t want to hear it. Hear her mother fawn over the good kits, then embarrassedly look over at the poorly apprentice. Stumble over her words as she insists that she is equally as proud of her, and happy that she was improving, She’d walk away, and muttered quietly to her mate about what they had done wrong.   
Frostpaw beats her to it. She shuffles off to the apprentice den, and lies in her nest among the kits half her age.   
She sleeps fitfully, guarded by her littermates.  
The next day, she does more than numbly comply with Flintfoot’s lessons. In fact, she participates with a passion, fighting like her life actually hangs in the balance and hunting like she’s starving.   
When the lesson is over, and they’re both panting, Flintfoot asks:  
“Why so enthusiastic?”  
“Twenty two more days,” She pants out.   
“We’ll see,” Is the only response she gets.   
I have to admire Frostpaw in the coming days. There is a saying in the dark forest, that Starclan fears us because we are powerful. Capable of great things. Despicable things, but great ones. Every cat has their own explanation as to why, and I think I finally have mine: it takes nothing to blindly comply, to be good and honorable like you are taught. It takes strength to arise to your own goals, to succeed with everything against you.  
Of course, Frostpaw isn’t anywhere near that level yet. She’s not a pure little kitten, sweetness embodied, but she’s still relatively innocent. But bit by bit, my story is coming together. Rosefrost got her start somewhere, and I’m far from innocent. It seems I’ve been fighting head-on for longer than I thought.   
At twenty days left, she begins to embrace Flintfoot’s steep orders. as annoying as it is, he is right, and she stops dragging her paws. If she wants to pass, to even be ready for her assessment, she might as well take the advice of someone who’s already done it.  
Eighteen days.   
Breezeclaw comes to a battle training session. They spar, and he wins.   
Fifteen.  
Brightstar compliments her on her hunting skills when she brings in a pigeon, and mouse, and a squirrel.   
Twelve.  
Breezeclaw comes again. She wins.  
Eleven.  
She and Greystorm are out together on a hunting patrol, alone, for the first time in moons. They talk, but it’s nothing like how they used to be. No more prank planning, or pure playfulness, just small talk, quick jokes, and several comments on some Brambletail character.   
Eight.   
A step backwards.  
Brakenclaw comes with Breezeclaw for sparring practice. Breezeclaw insists, in hushed hisses, that she throw the fight. If he looks bad in front of him, he’ll be humiliated/reputation ruined/very angry.   
She refuses, and beats him blind, cursing him all the way. Why should his reputation be more important than hers? is his idol’s impression of him more important than her finally becoming a warrior?   
There’s more, but even I’m a bit shocked to hear such a young cat say that. Flintfoot scolds her for being a bad sport. Brakenclaw jabs them both simultaneously:  
“Wow, Breezeclaw, I thought you were better than to be beaten by and overgrown apprentice. I guess I was right earlier, when I said I’m twice the warrior you’ll ever be.”  
Frostpaw boils for a moment, but springs before all the reasons this is a bad idea can catch up to her. her honor, and even her good-for-nothing brother’s is on the line here. Flintfoot drags her off, and says if she’s going to act like a kit, he’ll treat her like one. Another day is added, and Breezepaw goes back to camp with his tail between his legs, with a limping Brakenclaw leaning on his shoulder.  
Eight.   
Frostpaw is perfectly obedient. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s half sarcasm. I know how to behave, I just didn’t think that situation warranted it. Technically, she does nothing wrong, and the day is dropped.  
Six.  
She happens upon Greystorm and Brambletail talking quietly in a secluded corner of the territory. Excuses are made, but the only thing she takes away is how big the gap between her and her littermates really is.   
Four.   
Flintfoot says he has she’s caught up. The practice all day, but I can swear Flintfoot snuck in some new moves.   
One.  
Snowpelt says she’s proud of her.   
And then, finally, it comes; her assessment. Se hunts, and brings back one of each type of prey, just as instructed. One bird, one tree-animal, one ground-animal.   
In the battle section, she spars with Brakenclaw. it’s perhaps the most satisfying thing imaginable to watch the smirks slowly slip off his face, only to be replaced by a scowl. She would have won, if Flintfoot hadn’t told them he’d seen enough.  
She makes exactly four mistakes.   
In catching the bird, she let her paw slip and lost her first bird entirely. It took her far too long to find a second.  
Her ground prey is a squirrel. Her tree prey is a squirrel. The first squirrel was in a tree, and the second on the ground, and whoever was watching her would know that, but it’s still worrying.   
In the battle section, her first mistake is simple: She muddles her paws and strikes with her right when her left would have been a much more serious hit.   
her second mistake is far worse: she shifts all of her weight on to one paw while making that strike. Brakenclaw hardly notices as she bats his shoulder, then pull her paws out from under her in one strike. She recovers, but she shouldn’t have had to.   
After the battle section, Flintfoot pads out from a tree. They gather up her prey, and walk slowly to camp.   
I’m a little surprised when Frostpaw doesn't try to worm some answers out of him on their way back, but her mouth is full of squirrel. Talking may just be too difficult.  
As soon as they’re back, Flintfoot goes into Brightstar's den, leaving Frostpaw to rattle around in camp. As warriors go in and out on patrols, they wish her luck. She barely responds to any of them, preferring to groom her forepaw again and again.   
Finally, after moons of waiting, rooted to one spot in the camp, she sees a sign of movement from Brightstar’s den. Flintfoot pad out ahead of her, heading towards Frostpaw. Brightstar turns as soon as she’s out, climbing towards the Clan Peak.   
I swear, I’ve never seen a cat, alive or dead, shake so hard.   
Frostpaw looks like she’s in her own world the whole way to the spot where she’ll be made a warrior. She doesn’t seem to notices the quick brushes of tails across her flank, the soft purrs, or even the one crotchety elder who peeks out of the den only to snort out a “Finally!”  
I do. I see it all, from my safely removed vantage point. I see Brightstar call for the clan to another, I see Greystorm and Snowpelt angle themselves towards her, and I see Brightstar begin the ceremony.   
“Stormclan, it is once again time to honor a new warrior. Flintfoot has told me that though the path to this day has been longer than most for Frostpaw, she has finally reached its end.   
“I, Brightstar, leader of Stormclan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. She has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend her to you as a warrior in her turn.  
“Frostpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?”  
Frostpaw gulps before answering.   
“I do.”  
“Then by the powers of Starclan, I give you your warrior name. Frostpaw, from this moment you will be known as Frostleap. Starclan honors your energy and persistence, and we welcome you as a full warrior of Stormclan.”  
There is cheering. There are family and friend’s she’d forgotten she had, all congratulating her. through it all, she stays quiet, glowing with pride but never speaking. Even when her sister pads p and purrs like there’s no tomorrow, all she does is muzzle back.   
I understand. Sometimes a moment is so perfect, it’s precious and fragile and you can’t help but worry that your own words may shatter it, and it's safer just to sit back and let it happen.   
Her vigil doesn’t look nothing special. there are no enemy attacks, no invading badgers, not even a wayward squirrel. She sit, guards, and flinches at every little noise until morning. If she’s thinking of anything important, it’s still lost to me. Flintfoot dismisses her at dawn, and she goes to sleep it the warriors den in a nest near Greystorm's.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Konodragon on fanfiction.net.


End file.
